


peter calling tony dad

by killerqueenwrites



Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [13]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Code Dad, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Kidnapping, Misunderstandings, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: “Incoming call. Number unknown.”“Answer it,” Tony says.“Dad?”Something’s wrong. Many many things, in fact.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: i will always hold you close (irondad bingo) [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016994
Comments: 12
Kudos: 672
Collections: The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics





	peter calling tony dad

**Author's Note:**

> if you're subscribed to me, sorry for the spam you're getting. i'm reuploading my irondad bingo one-shots as individual stories to make it easier for people to find them and so they can be stories in their own right.[ they were originally posted here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19019488/chapters/45168637)

The next team meal is better than any Steve remembers. Laughter. Playful bickering. Food being shared up and down the table.

Peter’s helping. Definitely helping.

But Steve and Sam and Natasha keep stealing glances at each other, the weight of what they know pressing down. Vision and Wanda keep to themselves, but there’s a clear tension in the air.

“So, Peter,” Natasha says, “since you’re much too nice to be the spawn of that imp over there–“

Tony tosses a chopstick at her, which she dodges easily.

“–what’s your family like?”

Everyone quiets down a little, waiting for the kid’s answer.

“Um, it’s just me and my aunt now.” Peter looks down, and Tony nudges their shoulders together. Comforting him. “My uncle – he, uh, died about a year ago in a bodega robbery. They took me in when my parents died. I was four.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says softly. “That’s a lot of loss for one person. Do you remember your parents? What did they do?”

“A little. Apparently I look more like my mom. They were scientists.” Peter looks at her, at Sam, his eyes narrowing. “What?”

_Perceptive kid_. “Peter,” Steve says carefully, “did you ever read anything from that SHIELD data dump?”

“Only what everyone was talking about,” Peter says slowly, chopsticks abandoned on his plate. “The HYDRA stuff.”

“Never…saw your own name?”

“What the fuck are you trying to say, Rogers?” Tony cuts in. His free hand, resting on the table, is shaking. “Why would he have been on any kind of radar in 2014? He didn’t get his powers until a year ago. Why was SHIELD even – aware of his existence?”

Peter nods frantically. “I’m just a kid from Queens.”

“Your parents, Peter.” Natasha leans forward. “You’re in the files because they’re in the files. They were agents.”

“They were geneticists!” Peter shoots back, his voice climbing higher. 

“ _For_ SHIELD.” 

“No,” Peter says shortly, “because – because that means they lied, or my uncle lied, or – or my aunt did. You’re wrong. They wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know what you think working for a secret organisation entails, exactly–“

“Romanoff,” Rhodey says sharply.

“They died in a plane crash, right?” Natasha doesn’t wait for him to answer. “That plane crash wasn’t an accident, Peter.”

Silence. No one even breathes. 

“…what?” Peter whispers. He’s pale, eyes welling up.

“It’s not clear who was responsible in the files, but – most likely HYDRA.”

“That – that can’t be right.”

Tony sits back in his chair, right hand gripping his left wrist. Peter stares down at the table. Rhodey looks like he doesn’t know who to comfort first. 

“I recognised your name when Vision found you on the Stark employee database,” Natasha says, gentle in the thunderous silence. “Went back and searched the files. Richard and Mary Parker. We thought you deserved to know. You’re one of us now, and we don’t have secrets.”

Peter, quick as a flash, stands from his chair and bolts from the room. Tony darts after him with a quiet, “Shit.”

“Well,” Wanda says, “that went significantly worse than even I could have predicted.”

“Jesus, guys,” Rhodey groans. “What the fuck?”

Natasha lifts her chin, just a little. “I found something out about the kid. He needed to know. Lying about things like that gets us nowhere.”

“Look,” Rhodey says, “I understand and appreciate you wanting to be honest, especially given – past events. But shit, man, did you have to do it like that?”

“No, but–“

“That was rhetorical.” Rhodey stands. “Gonna go do damage control.”

“I’ll come,” Steve offers. “I was the one that insisted we tell Peter. No more secrets.”

“If you think that’ll help,” Rhodey says, in a tone that strongly suggests he doesn’t think so. 

As they walk down the hall, Steve’s enhanced hearing picks up voices, sharp, fast, urgent.

“Did you know?”

“Of course not–“

“Don’t lie, you know everything about me. You know when my lunch period is. You know what the cafeteria’s serving every day.”

“I didn’t have FRIDAY do a retroactive search. Maybe I should’ve, that’s my bad. Hey, where’re you going?”

“I need to be alone.”

“Can we please talk about this?”

“No.”

“Buddy–“

Rhodey opens the door to Peter’s room, but Tony’s the only one in there. Empty backpack. Clothes strewn across the bed. Open window.

* * *

Peter swings without any plan or direction at first. He’s a swirling storm of hurt and confusion, his entire life ripped out from under his feet before he could blink.

He’s been on the internet for two years, without knowing. His name. His parents. A possible target. Or an _asset_.

No, Mr Stark wouldn’t do that. He’d come to Peter with a new suit and, once the sting of the team’s betrayal wore off, the offer of mentoring him was re-extended. He came looking for Spider-Man, not a SHIELD legacy.

So Peter had just yelled at him for no reason. Cool. Awesome. He needs to apologise for that.

He finds his way to one of the backpacks he keeps around the city – better hidden than when he first started out – and quickly changes out of his suit before jogging down the fire escape, out of view of any cameras. He’s in Queens, a few blocks from home.

He wants May, but he doesn’t know what he’d even say to her. He wants Mr Stark, but he should probably let everything cool off at the Tower.

His parents worked for SHIELD. His name is in the files along with theirs. He’s on the fucking internet. What if someone realises? Someone from the government maybe, curious about Tony Stark’s intern? Does that come up when someone types his name into Google?

Natasha’s a SHIELD agent, right? So is Hawkeye. Did they know his parents, outside of files? Work with them?

Every question that springs into his mind brings more with it. He ducks his head and walks, still not going in any particular direction. He goes to check the time, and only once he’s patted all his pockets does he remember he left his phone at the Tower.

There’s footsteps behind him, but it’s New York, so he doesn’t register the sound until his sense flares, _panic_ sparking out from the base of his skull, and there’s a sharp jab, a hand catching him as he falls, and…and…

* * *

“So,” Sam says, “this is all going horribly.”

Rhodey glances over at him and shakes his head minutely.

“Oh, I wonder why,” Tony snaps, turning around from his screen. “You had to drop not one bomb, but two. Are you happy now? ‘No more secrets.’ Fuck’s sake.”

“The kid deserved to know,” Natasha says.

“Oh, sure. Deserved to have a whole identity crisis in front of you – practical fucking strangers. I swear, if there’s one scratch on him when he gets back–“

“You’ll kill us?”

“No, but his aunt will, and she won’t make it quick.”

“Sounds like my kind of friend.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what Pepper said.”

Natasha smiles. “And aren’t we friends?”

Tony sighs, sits back in his chair. “Fri, run the trace one more time.”

_“I cannot find a signal for the Spider-Man suit.”_

“Allow me to remind you that your protocols take precedence over Karen.”

_“I am aware. I cannot find a signal, which suggests he is no longer wearing it. His phone, however, is upstairs.”_

“Yeah, that I knew,” Tony mutters.

* * *

“Wake up.”

_No_ , is Peter’s first petulant thought. _I’m tired_.

“I said wake up, you little brat.”

_Okay, that’s new_. Peter peels open one eye, trying to lift a hand to rub at his face – and stops.

Dark room. Weird smell. His ass is numb. He can’t move his feet. There are men standing in front of him, dark balaclavas pulled over their heads.

Kinda not good. But, he reminds himself as his fuddled brain slowly kicks back into gear, he doesn’t have the suit on him. They probably don’t know about Spider-Man. Always a plus.

He tests the things holding his wrists, his ankles, to the uncomfortable chair. Zip ties. Yeah, they have no idea. 

“All right, kid,” the man in front says. “No need to panic just yet. We need to get talking with your dad, need him to get us some shit, and then we’ll never have to see your snotty face again.”

First of all, _rude_. Second: Peter doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

After weeks – _weeks_ , verging on months – of pretending, of calling Mr Stark ‘Dad’ on the off-chance one of the Avengers might hear it through a wall or around a corner, these guys have jumped to the exact same conclusion without a shred of the same (admittedly fake) evidence.

“My dad?” Peter asks, making a face at his dry tongue.

“Yes, your dad. Don’t try and feed us that ‘intern’ bullshit. We’ve seen him in public with you. We’ve seen how he acts.”

“Well, the internship is kinda more like a mentorship, so it’s okay that you’re confused–“

“Don’t lie to me!” the man roars.

Peter flinches back, snaps his mouth shut.

“Let’s just make it a lot easier on both of us, shall we?” he continues, and the way he calms down instantly, like a switch being flicked, is unnerving. “Give us the number to call your rich daddy. The quicker we do that, the quicker you’re out of here.”

“I don’t have my phone,” Peter protests. “I haven’t memorised any numbers. Who does that now?”

He has, in fact, memorised numbers. Lots of them. Mr Stark had insisted after the Gas Station Incident, which involved a super angry guy dressed as a scorpion, a neurotoxin, and a very high Peter coming to at a gas station outside Albany with no idea how he got there and no way of contacting anyone or recalling a cell number.

“I think you’re lying,” the man says. “Aren’t you rich fucks all about safety? You have your own driver and you’re telling me you don’t know any numbers?”

Peter swallows back a grin. At least Happy wasn’t around to hear that.

“So how about you give me the number, I let you talk to your dad, and this will all go a lot smoother for everyone.”

“I…”

“Believe me when I say that pissing me off would be the worst mistake of your life,” the man says, and Peter does. Maybe not the worst, but certainly a big one. 

“I’m – I–“

“Now!” the man growls.

Peter takes a shaky breath and nods, reels off Mr Stark’s number from memory.

The line rings.

* * *

_“Incoming call. Number unknown.”_

“Answer it,” Tony says.

_“Dad?”_

Something’s wrong. Many many things, in fact. 

One: Peter calling from an unknown number. Two: the barely-there tremble in his voice. Three: free of the pretence they’d kept up for the team, he’s still calling Tony ‘Dad’.

So who is he pretending for?

“Hey, bud,” he says gently, taking care to control his voice, and gestures for FRIDAY to start tracing the call. Peter’s already scared. No need to make it worse. “Everything okay? You left your phone here.”

_“I’m sorry,”_ Peter whispers. _Something’s wrong something’s wrong something’s wrong–_

Tony swallows, trying his best to stay calm, act normal, not give away to whoever’s listening that he’s already twigged what’s happening. “It’s okay, kid. Where are you now? I’ll order whatever you want for dinner. It’ll be here by the time you get back.”

There’s a scuffle on the other end, a faint yelp.

_“Very cute,”_ a new voice says. _“Unfortunately I can’t promise your son will be back in time for tea, Mr Stark.”_

“All right,” Tony says coolly. “Let’s have a talk. No need for this to get out of hand.”

_“I see you like getting straight to the point. I respect that, you know? So allow me to do the same: if you don’t do exactly as I say, I will send your son back to you in pieces. Was that clear enough for you?”_

“Crystal.”

_“Then listen carefully. No cops. No Avengers. I’ll contact you in a few hours with a bank account and the amount. Sit tight.”_

Tony’s left hand spasms and he clenches it into a fist. “Can I talk to him?”

“ _Fine.”_ More movement. _“Talk.”_

Peter gasps. _“H-hey.”_

“Hi, kiddo. You sit tight, okay? I’ll sort this, I promise.” _Stay safe. Don’t do anything stupid._

_“I know.”_ Peter lets out a shaky breath, a rush of static through the speaker. _“‘M sorry I ran off.”_

“No, don’t apologise for that. Last time they dropped a truth bomb on me, I punched Rogers in the face. And lost.”

There’s a wet laugh. FRIDAY’s tracking progress ticks over to 81%.

_“All right, that’s enough.”_

“No, come on–“

_“Keep your phone on you, Stark.” Click._

“Dammit,” Tony hisses.

_“Sorry, Boss. There was a ping I had trouble with.”_

Tony waves her away. “Keep an eye out for that message. See if you can trace the source when it comes through. And don’t let any of the team hear a single word of this.”

_“Of course.”_

“Shit,” Tony says, and blows out a long breath. “Shit.”

* * *

Peter watches the man snap the phone in half before he pulls the SIM card out and snaps that too.

“Get me another burner,” he says. “We’ll send the first demand in a few hours.”

“The – the first one?” Peter says. 

“God, are you gonna keep talking the whole time?” someone mutters.

“Yes, the first one, kid, because money isn’t all your daddy has to offer, is it? But if he gives us that, we know he’s serious about getting you back.”

Peter can join the dots on that one. “If you want suits, he won’t give them to you.”

“Aw, that’s a damn shame. You’re a cute kid.” The man leans over Peter, eyes piercing behind his mask. “Still, does anyone really need all their fingers?”

Peter swallows, and the man around him burst into laughter.

“All right, gag him. Don’t wanna listen to him yapping. He could be around a while.”

_Sit tight_ , Mr Stark had said, _I’ll sort this_. Code for ‘don’t let them know who you are’. He’d figured out was happening almost instantly, as Peter had hoped he would, realised that ‘Dad’ was once again a cover, only this time to fool different, more dangerous people.

So he has to sit here and play the part of the helpless kid, which is…frustrating, to say the least. He could be out of here and on his way home in ten minutes, but he wouldn’t kill them and then they’d know. Mr Stark had made it clear keeping his identity secret is the priority.

For now. He fully expects that to change when Mr Stark balks at their demands, which he will. He’d told Peter once, not long after the Vulture, that one of his worst fears is his technology ending up in the wrong hands. There’s no way he’d give it up willingly.

One of the men forces a piece of cloth into his mouth and ties it tightly, yanking him back to reality. He’s tied to a chair in a shitty warehouse somewhere, surrounded by men who apparently have no trouble threatening and torturing a kid.

Then they all leave, shutting the door behind them, and he’s alone.

* * *

It’s a long few hours of tapping his fingers on his workbench, ignoring Rhodey’s messages to come up for dinner, and waiting.

They said they wouldn’t hurt Peter. So why is there a pit in his stomach?

_“Message received,”_ FRIDAY says. _“It contains an account number and an amount in dollars.”_ She flashes it up on the screen for him to read.

“That’s it?” Tony says. “No location? No ‘come alone or else’?”

_“No.”_

“Call the number. And trace it.”

The man picks up almost instantly. _“Stark?”_

“Yeah, hi. Got your text. Or half of it. I don’t seem to have a pick-up time for my kid, so if you could let me know, that’d be great. Trying to decide when to leave in Manhattan traffic is a nightmare.”

_“What makes you think you’re supposed to have that information?”_

“Uh, let’s see,” Tony says, trying to swallow down his rising apprehension, “you took my kid. You asked for money. Ergo, the logical thought process leads to a swap. Wasn’t the ransom your idea? Do you even know how this is supposed to work?”

_“No, Stark. If you remember, I said you could send the money or I start sending your kid back, one body part at a time. If you want him back with you and not hanging out with me for the foreseeable future, you’re going to have to work for it.”_

“Work for it how?”

_89%._

_“Do what you do best, Stark. Suits. Weapons. Anything alien you might have lying around. Give yourself some time to get it all together, and then we’ll work out an exchange. Pleasure doing business with you.”_

“Can I talk to Peter?” Tony blurts, sensing he’s about to hang up. 

_95%._

_“Sorry, kid’s a little tied up at the minute. He’s not been harmed yet.”_

“How am I supposed to know that if I can’t speak to him?”

_“What, are you not gonna send the money now? Does it matter either way?”_

“No,” Tony lies, “but I’d still like to check in. Call it parental instinct.”

_“Well, he’s fine for now. Isn’t your parental instinct telling you that?”_

_Trace complete._

_“Wire the money, and then we’ll arrange a time and place to make the exchange.”_

This time, Tony lets him end the call. “You got it?”

_“I got it,”_ FRIDAY confirms. _“The text gave me a head start. Sending the location to your suit systems now.”_

“Get the team down here.”

_“You sure?”_

“Yep.”

* * *

It must have been hours by now. He needs to pee. He needs to _sneeze_. And his butt is still painfully numb. 

_I’ll sort this_ , Mr Stark had said. Well, he’d better _sort this_ soon or Peter’s going to _sort it_ himself, secret identity or not.

He’s trying not to yawn, because he really doesn’t want to inhale anything that’s on the gag, when the door flies open, slamming against the wall, and the leader storms in.

“What did you do?” he screams.

Peter tries to form an expression that says ‘What?’ and ‘I haven’t done anything because I’m tied to a chair, dumbass,’ and ‘Can’t actually talk, dude,’ all at once.

“Little fucking _shit_ ,” he snarls, reaches for his belt, and Peter cringes away, starts pulling on the zip ties, ready to run–

A flash of light, and the man hits the ground. Mr Stark stands framed in the doorway, arm raised, expression furious, until Peter makes a cheerful noise that’s hopefully interpreted as ‘Hello!’ which seems to snap him back to reality.

“Hi, kid,” he says, striding across the room, and just his presence brings instant relief.

Peter makes a face as Mr Stark pulls the rag out of his mouth, sticking his tongue out. “Gross.”

“Absolutely,” Mr Stark says, and sets about snapping the zip ties around Peter’s wrists and ankles. “Very unsanitary. You hurt?”

“Got a great needle mark on my neck from when they grabbed me, but they didn’t touch me otherwise.” Peter stands, a little unsteady on his feet, and before he knows it he’s being hugged.

“Good to see you, kid,” Mr Stark murmurs. “Nice work with the secret code.”

“Who knew Dad could be a secret message?” Peter says into his chest. “Mr Stark, I’m so sorry – I should’ve believed you, and not run off like that – I ruined dinner–“

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Mr Stark says firmly. “I’m sure Natasha has a wonderful apology lined up, and then we’re both happy to sit down and help you go through your parents’ files. If you want. Maybe talk to your aunt about it as well.”

“Yeah. Talking would be good. Calm talking.”

“Exactly. Let’s go, yeah? There’s still some Chinese left. I think you’ve earned it.” Mr Stark clutches his chest as Peter pulls back. “Damn, you’d think being called Dad would give me the warm and fuzzies, not instant code red. Defcon one.”

“My bad?”

“What’s life without a daily Peter-induced heart attack, huh?”

“Aw, so I improve your life?”

“Immeasurably,” Mr Stark says. “Let’s not have a Code Dad for a long time though, please.”

Peter sighs. “It’s not my fault everyone keeps jumping to the same wrong conclusion.”

* * *

Tony hums to himself as he watches the Chinese slowly rotate in the microwave, the hum and smell each comforting in their own way. Helen had done a quick blood test on Peter to check the sedative wasn’t harmful, but that was it before she cleared him to go get food and rest. As far as kidnappings go, it could’ve been far worse.

He tunes in to the conversation happening at the table behind him, Natasha’s voice soft and kind.

“…when Fury started making waves in SHIELD – there was this incident in ‘95 that we don’t know a lot about – they backed him, and he liked to surround himself with people who had his back. If Coulson were still around – he might’ve known them better.”

“So they were, like, important?”

“Yeah. If Fury pokes his head out of whatever bunker he’s hiding in, sic your dad on him to get some answers.”

Peter laughs.

“And this one – January 2001. Kicked some weapon dealer ass while your mom was pregnant with you.”

The microwave beeps, making Tony jump, and he pulls all the Tupperware boxes and to pile the food onto one plate.

“Your meal, young sir,” he says, placing it on the table with a flourish.

“Thanks,” Peter says. “Oh, this looks like a long one – September 2001 to June 2004.” He taps the tablet screen to expand the file. “Undercover placement – wait, shit.”

“What?” Tony leans over, eyes skimming the mission brief. _Undercover placement…examine suspicious activity…deep cover, using qualified skill in biochemistry and genetics…Oscorp_. “What?”

“They worked for Oscorp?” Peter whispers. “As geneticists.”

“Undercover,” Natasha says with a frown. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t _understand_. “Tony’s not going to disown you over it–“

“Scroll,” Tony demands, and Peter does. “Umm…’genetic modification…cross-species DNA splicing’ – what the fuck?”

“What the fuck?” Peter echoes. He ghosts a hand over the back of his neck, almost unconsciously.

“‘Mission cut short as Parker and Parker killed in plane crash. Suspected sabotage. Survived by son, Peter Benjamin, aged three at time of writing. Currently in the care of relatives.” Tony swallows. “Oscorp genetic experimentation program abandoned soon after. No significant progress made despite cover requiring Parker and Parker assist in the research. As such, mission labelled success.’”

“Oh my God,” Peter says.

“‘Over course of mission, Parker and Parker reported several lines of research as close to success. See below.’ Okay, seeing below. Uh…’lizard and chimpanzee DNA: success. Lizard and human DNA: close to breakthrough. Spider and chimpanzee DNA: success. Spider and human DNA: close to breakthrough. As of last report, Parker and Parker noted that there is no way to perform any of these genetic modifications on humans using any live specimens, as it would require either their DNA or that of supervising researcher.” Tony sits back in his chair, feeling like all the air has been punched out of him.

“Shit,” Peter says.

“Shit,” Tony agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> peter, after weeks of calling tony dad to fool the avengers: dad
> 
> tony: timE TO PANIC
> 
> i'm on tumblr at [akillerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com), or my main blog [akillerqueenyouare](https://akillerqueenyouare.tumblr.com). come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, [@killerqueenao3](https://twitter.com/killerqueenao3) , if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!


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